The Price Of Pride
by Anya2
Summary: Arthur simply cannot resist a chance to prove his mettle. Unfortunately, in the joust, arrogance can become a dangerous failing.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Price Of Pride

**Rating:** T

**Characters:** Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, Gaius, Gwen, Uther

**Pairing: **Arthur/Merlin friendship, Arthur/Morgana, some Merlin/Gwen (so basically like the show)

**Warnings: **Jousting could be a bit nasty at times, that's all I'm saying.

**Spoilers: **Minor for 1x02

**Summary:** Arthur simply cannot resist a chance to prove his mettle. Unfortunately, in the joust, arrogance can become a dangerous failing.

* * *

**Part One**

Morgana had been quite put off the idea of tournaments ever since the one with Valiant had so nearly gone awry. In her opinion they were filled with nothing but stupid men finding the stupidest ways to lose their lives. At least half the knights competing probably had families depending upon them, and she considered it quite ludicrous that they would risk leaving widows and fatherless children for the sake of their own glory. Not to mention Arthur, she reasoned who should know better with all his responsibilities and yet had so nearly left Camelot without an heir. How on earth had he deemed his reputation as a warrior more important than his kingdom or his life? No, she'd concluded, tournaments were the domain of those who had more pride than sense.

Which was why she didn't exactly take great joy in Uther's announcement of a new type of tournament coming to Camelot. The sport of jousting was quite a recent invention but, as far as she understood it, was still based upon the skills of battle like any other event. This was the first she would ever have seen though that was mounted on horseback and whilst it did indeed sound like an exciting spectacle, it also sounded highly dangerous. Still, Uther was planning a lavish gathering, a display of his wealth and power no doubt, and as the king's ward she would be expected to attend. Since she couldn't really feign a headache every day it was on without causing serious concern, she would have to smile and forebear the idiocy of it all.

A large arena, apparently called the list in official tournament parlance, was prepared outside the castle walls and on the opening morning of the event she took her seat on the royal dais to the right of Uther, with Gwen accompanying her as usual. Many people had come to watch this new and apparently thrilling form of entertainment, every seat taken by nobles and every standing spot filled by peasants.

The entry field was large and apparently it would take at least a day to even finish the first round of competition. It seemed the knights of Camelot were falling over themselves to prove that they were the champion of this new event. One noticeable absence was Arthur who had not yet officially announced whether he would be taking part. She suspected it would only be a matter of time however. It wouldn't be like him to miss an opportunity such as this. She spotted him now, standing with two of the competing knights, the group laughing and joking and apparently greatly enjoying themselves. He certainly did seem to thrive in these kinds of situation.

"You're looking at him again," Gwen said, leaning across to her with a knowing smile.

"I am not," Morgana flatly denied. "He just happened to be in my line of sight."

As was poor Merlin, she mused, who didn't at all seem to be having the fine that time that his master was. He stood around waiting, arms full of Arthur's armour in case the prince decided on a whim to compete that day. He also looked rather nervous and she suspected that may have something to do with the number of horses surrounding him. She seemed to remember him once saying that he didn't like the animals very much.

A fanfare sounded and Uther made his way to his grand chair, the participating knights hurrying to line themselves up in front of the king. He welcomed them all formally, wishing them a successful and nobly fought contest before he declared the tournament had begun to a thunderous round of applause from the crowd. He thankfully didn't notice that her clapping wasn't as enthusiastic as others.

She had to admit, the sight of two men riding at full charge towards one another was indeed impressive and the contests somewhat exciting. That didn't stop her wincing however when the injuries inevitably came. Mail was fine protection against swords and arrows but little use against blunt blows and whilst each knight carried a shield to defend himself, accidents were bound to occur when they competed with such speed and ferocity. One rider was unseated by a blow that glanced off his shield and hit his shoulder. From the cheers she gathered that to knock a man down was in fact a great thing in this sport, but she doubted the man lying on the floor, clutching his likely broken arm, would agree. Another unfortunate soul staggered from his horse after a strike to the face, removing his helmet to reveal his nose bleeding profusely and looking horribly battered. The crowd gasped in disgust, several of the noble ladies vacating their seats.

Uther turned to her after that particularly injury. "You may leave if you wish."

But she shook her head, refusing to show such weakness.

Gaius, like herself, didn't seem to be wholly impressed with this new form of supposedly civilised combat. He hurried on to the field to treat the man in question, shaking his head in dismay as he pressed cloths to the knight's face and led him off.

Nearly a dozen contests had taken place by the time Arthur joined the spectators, Merlin still trailing behind him. The young prince half bounded onto the platform, apparently having the time of his life. He didn't take his seat to his father's left as expected though, instead looking meaningfully at Gwen who hurriedly nodded and vacated her chair for him. That annoyed Morgana a little but at least, she thought with a smile as she saw where her maidservant had headed, it gave the girl a chance to talk to Merlin. They really were so sweet together. She hoped that something would blossom between them rather than Gwen continuing to pine for the long gone Lancelot.

"Are you enjoying the contest?" Arthur asked, all buoyant enthusiasm, leaving no doubt about his opinion.

That somehow made her ensure her response was all the more disinterested. "It seems to be a lot of fussing for little action," she said, feigning boredom, hoping it would annoy him. "I think there's a better spectacle in traditional armed combat myself."

Much to her frustration, that didn't seem to bother him much after all. Instead he just settled more comfortably in the chair next to her.

"You just don't understand all the elements yet," he reasoned, patronisingly. "Allow me to explain."

"I think you'll find it's simple enough," she pointed out, making it quite clearly that it wasn't beyond her. "The men gain points for striking their lance on their opponent. More if they unseat him."

He nodded in something like approval at the attention she'd been paying.

"And I suppose if they manage to kill him then they're given some sort of grand prize," she finished sarcastically.

The look he gave her was a dry one, knowing she didn't really believe that. "No. That would be barbaric. You in fact lose points if your opponent is at all injured."

"And I'm sure that's great comfort to any man left with his head half hanging off."

Arthur rolled his eyes at her attitude.

Despite herself though, she had taken an interest in the ongoing competition and certain parts of it were still a mystery to her.

"Why do some men ride different horses than others?" she asked casually after a few moments of silence, trying to make it sound as if she were simply making polite conversation.

He smiled, not fooled by her manner and apparently pleased by her curiosity. "It's a trade off between power and speed," he explained. "The chargers are light and quick, allowing the knight to reach full pace along the list. The destriers are much slower but they carry more weight behind them for harder blows. A slower pace also allows you to aim your lance more accurately."

She nodded taking that in.

Two new knights took to the field, preparing to compete. Before one donned his helmet though he rode his horse across to the crowd, saying something to one of the noble ladies there which Morgana didn't catch. Giggling and blushing in equal measure, the lady stood and tied what appeared to be a scrap of material around the knight's wrist. The man nodded graciously at her and returned to the field.

Morgana frowned in confusion and Arthur leaned closer to her, smiling knowingly. "He told her he will win this tournament in her honour," he explained, "and she gives him a token of her favour in acceptance of that."

"Well," Morgana stated, still watching the obviously pleased young woman, acutely aware that Arthur was studying her reaction, "I hope she doesn't find herself disappointed."

"I'm afraid she might," he replied with a false sigh, sitting back in his chair again. "I'm going to enter this afternoon."

She tried not to show any flicker of emotion but he must have caught something in her features because he grinned at her.

"You're not worried, are you?"

"Yes," she said tartly. "About your horse."

He actually laughed at that.

Much to her annoyance, but not really to her surprise, Arthur proved to be very good at jousting. He won all his contests that afternoon and spent the evening feast in an extremely merry mood indeed.

"Someone had better knock him off his horse before long," Morgana said quietly to Gwen as the other woman handed her a goblet of wine, "or they won't find armour big enough to contain his ever growing ego."

Gwen laughed but her decorum wouldn't allow her to say anything unkind about the prince.

The problem was, Morgana realised, Arthur's confidence was turning rapidly to arrogance and that could be dangerous. Uther seemed to be delighted and proud that his son was doing so well and only encouraged him further. She wondered however if such self-assurance would only lead to carelessness on the prince's part.

She couldn't say she was pleased to be proved right.

*****

Arthur looked down the list at his opponent, smiling broadly, confident of victory. Just one more strike would do it and the man had put up little resistance so far. That would take Arthur through to the quarter finals and, in his view, there was no man remaining in the competition to truly challenge him. The win would undoubtedly be his.

His face fell to a frown however when he saw his opponent wince as he tested his shoulder, apparently in some pain, and Arthur summoned his steward with a swift wave of his hand.

"Tell Sir Calvot that if he wishes to withdraw through injury there would be no shame in it," he instructed, the steward nodding and hurriedly running off.

Arthur then turned to the selection of lances awaiting him, meaning to choose one in case the contest did go ahead, but Merlin interrupted his thought process.

"Don't you think you've done enough today," his servant suggested lightly, as though he was joking. Arthur knew him too well though. "I mean," he continued when the prince declined to comment, "you don't want to peak too soon, do you? Or tire yourself. Save the best for last and all that."

"Merlin, do stop nagging," Arthur replied with an exasperated sigh. "You sound like an old woman."

"Hey, I'm just suggesting you don't get yourself killed before the final," Merlin replied flippantly, as though he really didn't care what happened to the prince after all.

Arthur was saved from making yet another cutting remark as the steward returned.

"Sir Calvot says he is perfectly well enough to continue, sire."

Arthur looked across at his opponent and nodded in respect, the knight bowing back in acknowledgment.

The prince then returned to choosing his lance, trying several before he found one he was happy with the weight and balance of. He handed the weapon over to Merlin, who was already juggling his helmet and shield and almost dropped them all, before mounting his horse. He waited impatiently for Merlin to sort himself out, rolling his eyes until the other man finally stopped his fumbling and handed over Arthur's equipment in good order.

His horse stamped with equal impatience as it took his opponent a little longer than him to be prepared.

Whilst he waited, Arthur glanced across into the crowd. At his father, clearly enjoying the contest and more relaxed than the prince had seen him in a long time. Then at Morgana who seemed torn between the thrill of excitement that it invoked and pretending not to be impressed. Smiling to himself, a notion came to mind.

Throwing his lance back to Merlin, who again nearly dropped it, he trotted his horse over to the royal dais and stopped directly in front of the king's ward.

"My lady," he announced grandly so all around him could hear, "I declare that I shall win this tournament in your honour."

Many a whisper went up through the stands, men grinning and ladies giggling. Morgana looked around her, suddenly uncomfortable at all the attention she was getting which was unusual because, as far as Arthur was concerned, she normally bathed in it. Amused by his slight victory, he raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for a response.

After a moment she stood gracefully and, to great cheers from the crowd, removed the blue lace ribbon that was decorating the end of her braided hair. She stepped forward and carefully tied it around his wrist.

"Although perhaps you'd like to explain later exactly why my honour will be improved by your victory," she whispered through a false smile, showing him that this wasn't necessarily a willing surrender.

His only response was to catch her hand before she withdrew it, bringing it to his lips and kissing it whilst he grinned, all confident impertinence as he toyed with her. The crowd roared their approval at such a gallant display and even Uther was laughing heartily and clapping.

Morgana looked skywards before she returned to her seat but Arthur was certain her cheeks were a little flushed.

He returned back to his end of the list, not bothering to hide the swaggering grin on his face. By the time he'd retrieved his weapon and armour, his opponent finally seemed ready.

Anticipation coursing through him, Arthur nodded in acknowledgement at the other man, donning his helmet, his thoughts now totally focused on the task at hand. Directing his horse the right way and steadying himself in the saddle, he tilted his lance and almost together both men began to charge, the crowd instantly roaring in excitement.

The helmet was a necessity of course, a blow to the head being potentially fatal otherwise. It did somewhat restrict his view however and he supposed he could blame his oversight on that but, if he was honest with himself, it was his own excessive confidence and pride that did him in. He was so focused on unseating his opponent, on winning in the most impressive way possible, that he didn't see the other man struggling to hold his lance up, the injury he'd sustained making his arm weak. Arthur certainly didn't realise that the other man's weapon was aiming lower than he was guarding with his shield, leaving him vulnerable. Nor, it seemed, did the crowd because they continued to roar the combatants on.

One voice did seem to shout 'stop!' and he thought it had been Merlin's, but he had no time to realise what the warning was about before the other man's lance slammed into his thigh. A searing, tearing pain ripped through his leg and on instinct he tried to clutch at the wound, losing his grip on the reigns. He realised that was a mistake but had no time to correct it as he instantly slid sideways, bouncing off the centre fence before landing hard on the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

Merlin didn't know if it was the magic in him or if he was simply being extra observant that day, but he saw the accident waiting to happen moments before it occurred.

He cried out to Arthur to stop but it was too late. Even if the prince did hear him over the roar of the crowd he could never bring the horse to a halt in time. Merlin had briefly considered using magic and damn the consequences of being seen, but he wasn't able to contemplate that seriously before the impact happened with sickening force.

The crowd gasped in horror as the lance shattered against Arthur's leg, the prince valiantly trying to keep his seat for a moment before momentum dragged him down. He flew into the central fence, smashing one of the bars before he hit the ground with a heavy thud.

All was deathly still for a moment, people starring on in horror as Arthur lay motionless on the floor.

Then, as if orchestrated, chaos seemed to erupt, the crowd breaking into cries and panicked chatter whilst a dozen knights ran onto the field to tend to their prince. Merlin dropped all he was carrying and ran after them. As he did so he saw Uther, Morgana and Gwen all out of their seats, trying to see through the gaggle of men surrounding the fallen rider. Uther's face was a mask but Morgana's was set in clear horror, her hand clutching tightly at Gwen's.

Merlin pushed his way through the small crowd around Arthur, slamming down onto his knees at the unconscious man's side and, without hesitation, gingerly removed his helmet. To his overwhelming relief Arthur was still breathing. Clearly not so good however was the large splinter of wood, as big as his hand, sticking out of the prince's thigh. The material around it was already drenched with blood and Merlin turned on instinct to call for Gaius, only to see the physician already forcing his way through. He took one look at Arthur's injury and addressed the nearest knight.

"Go. Fetch a litter. We need to take him back to my rooms for proper treatment."

The knight, still looking stunned, didn't move.

"Hurry man!" Gaius snapped. "Or do you want him to lose his leg?"

Shaken into action, the knight nodded and ran off.

"Do you really think he might lose his leg?" Merlin asked in great alarm, looking up at Gaius.

"Let's just get him inside first," the physician replied, refusing to commit his answer as he gripped Merlin's shoulder in apparent reassurance. There was no mistaking his grave tone however and the younger man shuddered in fearful anticipation, knowing Arthur would prefer to be dead rather than crippled.

*****

Merlin slammed open the door to the rooms he shared with Gaius. Any other time the physician would have scolded him for that, but his attention was far too busy elsewhere in that moment to care.

The young wizard held the door wide as half a dozen knights brought Arthur in, lying still unconscious on the litter. They placed it careful on the floor before, with natural organisation, they lifted him onto the small treatment bed. Gaius then hurriedly shooed them from the room, telling them he needed peace to work, yet accosting the last one before he left.

"Go to the King," he instructed. "Tell him the wound is serious but I am confident that I can save Arthur's life."

The knight nodded in understanding and left. Merlin couldn't be certain if those assurances were the truth or if Gaius was just trying to give the King hope.

"What can I do?" he asked, hovering anxiously by the bed, feeling mostly useless. He'd been working with Gaius for many months now but his knowledge was still fairly limited when it came to matters as serious as this. He certainly didn't want to do anything stupid and make things worse.

"Put this over him for now," Gaius instructed, tossing him a blanket. "The blood loss will make him cold." He then busied himself behind a table of equipment and herbs, starting to gather all he would need before adding, "And get him out of that armour."

Merlin nodded, carefully laying the blanket over the prince's shivering form before starting to remove the metal plates that protected his sword arm.

"It was a minor miracle he wasn't trampled to death!" Gaius grumbled, half worried and half furious with the situation. "I told Uther this tournament was too dangerous."

"And since when has a little danger stopped men trying to prove how ridiculous they are?" Morgana said caustically as strode into the room like a force of nature come to call, Gwen following more timidly behind her. The noble woman's words were angry but her face spoke otherwise, showing how worried she was. That was probably the reason why Gaius didn't immediately ask her to leave as he had the knights. Besides, she was famously stubborn and he didn't really have time to argue with her.

"How is he?" she asked, crossing over to the low bed and kneeling down beside it, skirts swishing agitatedly about the floor as she walked.

Reluctantly Merlin lifted the blanket and showed her the wound.

"Lord have mercy," she whispered in shock, looking suddenly even paler than she already did. Then she seemed to pull her courage together, glancing up at Gaius, trying to be practical. "Is there anything you need?"

He quickly assessed the materials spread out in front of him. "Comfrey," he announced after a moment, "I find it's often more effective than yarrow in cases of physical injury."

"Gwen?" she asked anxiously, turning to her maidservant for help.

"A small plant with broad leaves and pink flowers?" the girl enquired, looking at Gaius who nodded before she gave her confirmation. "I know where some is."

"Hurry," Morgana requested and the other girl promised she would before she rushed away.

"Can you help me with this?" Merlin said, indicating the mail. It felt odd to be asking a noble woman to give him a hand with anything but he guessed that under the circumstances she wouldn't mind.

Clearly she didn't because she nodded and between the pair of them they undid the relevant straps and dragged the heavy garment over Arthur's head and arms.

"Will he be all right?" Morgana asked, again addressing Gaius, apparently unable to hold back the question any longer.

The old man looked grave, wanting to steel her against the possibility. "The injury isn't immediately life threatening but it can sometimes be hard to judge the outcome in cases such as these."

She nodded in understanding, the notion he might die making her suddenly reach across and use a tender hand to brush the hair off Arthur's perspiration soaked brow.

Merlin didn't know if there was any magic in her touch, but it was at that precise moment that the prince regained consciousness, surprising them all as he groaned loudly in pain. Obviously realising where the injury was he reached for his leg, hand finding the piece of wood. On instinct he went to pull it out and was only prevented from doing so by Gaius's quick reflexes, batting his hand away.

"Don't touch it!" he instructed firmly. "It will bleed profusely once removed and we must be ready to immediately stitch the wound. It's best if we leave it in until then."

"That's easy for you to say," Arthur pointed out between gritted teeth, "you don't have half a tree sticking out your leg."

Morgana instantly took his blood soaked hand in hers, trying to keep him focused on her and not the wound. She did appear a little relieved though and Merlin suspected that, like himself, she was pleased just to hear the prince lucid.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, although her teasing held none of its usual amusement, "it's barely more than a splinter."

"So, I'm making a fuss over nothing?" Arthur croaked out, struggling to keep his decorum, his breathing all hurried gasps.

"Of course you are," she said with a shaky smile, obviously hating to see him in so much pain but trying to put on a brave face.

"Sorry. I'll try to be a little more manly about it then," he promised with a grimace.

"That doesn't seem likely. Remember when you were little and you fell off your horse trying to jump that brook?" She spoke hurriedly, attempting to distract him whilst Gaius took a closer look at the wound. "You cried like a small girl."

And even in his current condition Arthur seemed to take some offence at that. Seeing such a typical reaction from him cheered Merlin's spirits.

"So did you when you fell from that wall and took half the skin off your knees," he countered, voice trembling but still holding an air of indignation.

"I _was_ a small girl," she reasoned with the slightest laugh.

Merlin grinned a little too, imagining them as children growing up together. Bickering as sure as the day was long, no doubt; Arthur breaking her dolls and her smashing his little wooden swords in retaliation. No wonder Uther had grown so grumpy with these two around, the young wizard decided, the grin widening.

It was instantly wiped off his face however as Gaius pressed on the piece of wood, moving it a little to test how deep it went and Arthur howled in pain, unable to hold back this time. From the wince on Morgana's face, Merlin guessed that the prince was gripping her hand far too tightly for comfort but she made no complaint or attempt to remove it.

"Sweet heaven," Arthur whispered hoarsely, as he tried to catch his gasping breath, the pallor of his skin having hurriedly worsened.

Merlin stood and fetched a bowl of water and a cloth, dampening the material before placing it on Arthur's forehead which was burning despite the shivers still wracking his body. It wasn't much help, he knew that, but it at least might make the other man a little more comfortable.

"Could you please just get on with it," Arthur growled, looking up at Gaius. Merlin suspected a mix of fearful anticipation and the worry of loosing face if he had to cope much longer had spurred that request.

"I still need a moment," Gaius reasoned hesitantly. "And we should try and wait for Gwen to return with the herbs."

"I don't care," Arthur spat, "just get it out!"

After a moment's contemplation, apparently coming to the conclusion that he couldn't leave Arthur in this state any longer than necessary, the physician nodded in assent. "Very well. I'll need better access to the wound," he instructed as he fetched what he would need.

Merlin hesitated, afraid of hurting Arthur further if he went too near the injury, and Morgana moved before he did. She let Arthur's hand go and decisively gripped either side of the tear in his breeches, pulling it wide, ripping the material. She then demanded a wet cloth, which Merlin hurriedly handed to her, and proceeded to clean the area best she could.

Arthur craned his neck to look up at her, biting his lip. It seemed that despite the situation he was not unmoved by her hands on his skin and under any over circumstances Merlin would have ribbed him about that.

"I always knew you wanted to undress me," Arthur said with pained amusement.

"Being injured is no excuse for being coarse," she reminded him, concentrating on finishing her work.

"Sorry," he said, between breaths. "I seem to be suffering from a deplorable lack of etiquette right now. I can't imagine why."

Morgana actually smiled at that before Gaius tapped her on the shoulder and handed her a wooden rod and a cup filled with liquid.

"He must drink it all," he instructed. "It will help ease the pain and make him drowsy."

She nodded obediently, moving back to the head end of the bed and asking Merlin to help Arthur sit up a little so he could drink. The young wizard pushed his hands under the prince's back and shoulders, hoisting him as far as he could whilst Arthur used his shaking elbows to prop himself up. Morgana helped him to drink the mixture before he collapsed back to the bed with a disgusted look on his face.

"That was foul," he choked out. "Next time I'll take the pain thank you."

Ignoring him, Morgana pushed the rod into his mouth and told him to bite down. Merlin knew what it was for; to stop Arthur biting his tongue when the pain truly kicked in. When the prince looked up into her face Merlin thought he saw the tiniest flicker of fear there and Morgana must have too because she stroked his head soothingly again, taking deep breaths of preparation herself.

Merlin would never forget those few minutes as long as he lived. Arthur let out a muted cry of agony as Gaius swiftly removed the wooden spike, a sound Merlin never expected to hear from the prince's proud lips. He writhed in clear pain as Gaius began to sew, the physician explaining that he dare not wait for the draft to take full effect and getting Arthur's permission to continue. Merlin tried to concentrate on his own job, keeping the wound area clean so that Gaius could see what he was doing, whilst Arthur clutched fiercely at the sheets, gasping in pain at every stitch. At one point Merlin dared glance up at Morgana to see she was silently trembling but remaining steady all the same, pressing Arthur's shoulders to the bed to try and stop him moving too much.

It was a blessed relief to all when the draft finally kicked in and Arthur became drowsy before losing consciousness altogether.

Merlin didn't realise how much he was shaking though until Gaius announced that he was done and moved away. Morgana looked pale and drained too and when Gwen returned moments later she glanced with concern at all present, wondering if something terrible had happened.

"He's doing well," Gaius reassured her with a slight, weary smile.

Apparently relieved, she handed him the herbs and he put her to work immediately, grinding the leaves with a pestle whilst he mixed various other ingredients together into a paste. He paused for a moment to look up at Morgana, who was still sitting at the head of the bed, fingers lightly trailing through Arthur's hair.

"There's some water over there if you want to wash your hands," he said kindly, indicating a bowl on the other side of the room.

She glanced down at her bloodied palms as though she hadn't realised the mess they were in. Then she stood with a nod, but her mind seemed distracted and far away.

Merlin watched her cautiously for a moment, torn about what to do before he decided that it didn't seem nice to leave her on her own when she was clearly so shaken. He walked up to her, holding out a cloth so she could dry her hands once they were clean.

She thanked him with an unconvincing smile.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently, knowing the question was silly really when she clearly wasn't.

"I'm doing better than he is," she replied, nodding towards Arthur.

Which was true but not helpful.

"Well I thought you were really brave," he reassured her, trying to get her to be more positive.

"Hardly," she scoffed with a disbelieving laugh. Her hands were shaking violently as she dried them and he frowned.

"Would you like me to get you anything? I'm sure Gaius has something to help."

"No, I'm fine. Really."

Sensing that he was intruding, he nodded and walked away again. As he did so, Gwen passed him, her concerned expression fixed on Morgana as she shoved the mortar bowl into his hands and instructed him to grind. Doing as he was told, he turned around, watching as Gwen reached her mistress and laid a comforting hand on her arm, quietly speaking to her.

Morgana quickly turned her back on him and from the slight heave of her shoulders he guessed she was probably crying and didn't want to be seen. Gwen soothingly rubbed her hand up and down the other woman's back and, feeling awkwardly out of place, Merlin walked over to Gaius and left them to it.

By the time Morgana had recovered her composure, Gaius had mixed the crushed herbs into the paste he'd created and had spread it thickly over the wound, explaining it would help with the healing. Looking satisfied that he'd done all he could for now, he instructed Merlin to fetch several strong men. Arthur should be returned to his room where he could recover in greater comfort.

Remembering that Morgana and Gwen were still present, Merlin resisted the instinct to add the less hopeful caveat of '_if he recovered'_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

The rest of the tournament was abandoned, no one really having the stomach for it in the face of the prince's injury. Tomorrow, the temporary arena would be dismantled, but for tonight the time would be used to say prayers for Arthur's swift recovery.

As Morgana looked out of her chamber windows onto the courtyard below she noticed an unhealthy stillness, as though people were choosing to stay in their homes that evening and not go about their normal business. It disturbed her to see Camelot so unsettled, not really having appreciated before how much its peace seemed to rely on Arthur's strong presence. She already knew that a fearful muttering had sprung up amongst the people, wondering what would happen to the kingdom if the prince died. Uther had but one son and no obvious other heir. Would the succession pass through his ward? To her future husband and children?

Morgana tried not to take any heed of such prattling gossip. Arthur was unwell but not yet knocking at death's door. Gaius expected him to remain ill for several days as his body fought infection and tried to heal the injury, but the prince was young and strong and well equipped to regain his full health.

She'd tried to stay away for most of the afternoon, knowing that he needed rest, not fretting visitors. Merlin had been left as a sentinel to keep guard over him, his job to take note of the prince's wellbeing and fetch help at any sign of weakening. And it wasn't, she reasoned, as if she didn't trust Merlin. Quite the opposite in fact. It was simply a matter of her preferring action to waiting and so if she wanted to find out how Arthur was doing, she'd much rather do it herself.

Before she left her room, she picked up some bread and fruit still remaining from her barely touched supper and put it on a plate. Upon entering Arthur's chambers she found Merlin stoking up the fire, obviously fussing over it going out. She smiled at the young man, holding out the food she'd brought with her.

"I thought you might be hungry."

He looked a little taken aback, perhaps surprised that she'd think of his wellbeing at all, but he managed to smile gratefully all the same as he took it.

"How is he?" she asked, crossing to Arthur's bedside and looking down at the sleeping man. He looked restless and in discomfort rather than peaceful as she'd hoped.

"He has a fever," Merlin replied, hurriedly swallowing down the bite of apple he'd taken. "But that's not really a surprise. Gaius has got me waking him up and pouring this concoction down his neck every couple of hours to help." He grinned a little, nodding at Arthur. "Not that he's grateful, of course. I think his mumbles were some sort of threat to punch me in the nose last time."

Morgana smiled too at that. "He's still his usual charming self then."

Merlin laughed in return.

He wasn't so merry when she arrived back early the next morning. In fact, he looked like he hadn't slept a wink.

"His fever's getting worse," the young servant explained at her troubled look.

Making her way again to Arthur's bedside, she barely needed to lay the back of her hand on his forehead to feel the heat rising from his skin. He felt like he was burning, his whole body shivering and sweat running across his flesh.

"What does Gaius say?" she asked, unable to mask her concern.

"That there's nothing we can do that we aren't already. It's up to him now."

She nodded in acceptance, having known that deep down. Still, she hated to feel so useless.

"Why don't you go and get some rest?" she offered, the only thing she really could do. "You look exhausted. I'll stay with him."

He seemed reluctant to leave and she suspected there was an admirable sense of duty behind that. But he also wasn't stupid and likely realised that he was no use to Arthur if he could barely stand himself.

"I'll just go and lie down in the next room for a while," he hesitantly agreed after a moment. "He'll need some more of Gaius's mixture in an hour. You can come and wake me if I'm not already here."

She didn't. In an hour's time Merlin was still fast asleep and she didn't have the heart to wake him. So instead she hauled Arthur into a sitting position herself, cursing his weight under her breath before finally propping him up against his pillows. She held the cup to his lips and encouraged him to drink. At first he refused, moaning in protest, just wanting to be left alone.

"Come on, Arthur," she whispered in soft desperation. "Please. For me."

His eyes opened then, for the first time in over a day, a sudden clarity there.

"Morgana?" he asked hoarsely.

She smiled gently, heartened by that. "Yes. Now drink this. It'll help you get better."

She pressed the cup to his lips and this time he did as he was asked, collapsing exhaustedly back against his pillows afterwards before quickly drifting into a fitful sleep once more. She was so busy ensuring that he was lying comfortably, arranging the blankets around him and placing a cool cloth on his brow that she never saw Uther standing in the doorway.

The king smiled a little at the sight of her caring for his son and then slipped away again, unnoticed.

*****

The servant entered Arthur's chambers and bowed quickly, addressing Morgana directly. He had the nervous disposition of a man who knew that the message he carried wasn't going to be welcome.

"My lady," he said hurriedly. "The king wishes you to come and dine with him."

Merlin, who had become her constant companion in vigil, flinched at that, likely knowing well enough what her response would be. She hadn't exactly hidden her feelings regarding Uther in the last few days.

"You may tell the king," she said sharply, "that I don't feel like eating this evening."

"Forgive me, my lady," the servant said, eyes still rooted to the floor, "but the king told me to say that he will not accept 'no' as an answer."

Morgana drew an angry breath.

"Fine," she snapped, rising from her chair. He could have her company at dinner if he so wished and a piece of her mind to go with it.

Three days. Three days his son had lain in his sick bed and not once had Uther come to visit him. He took reports from Gaius and asked to be kept constantly informed of any develops but he made no effort to come and see Arthur for himself. How could a man be so heartless about his own son? What was he afraid of? Losing face? Did he think it would be some injury to his pride to show concern for his own flesh and blood?

Working herself into a fury, she marched into the king's dining hall, skirts swishing about her feet like angry whips. He greeted her with a slight smile which she didn't return.

To her surprise his face seemed to fall a little at that, as if he'd been hoping for a better reception, but he quickly recovered his composure all the same.

"Sit," he encouraged, indicating the chair opposite his.

"I'm not hungry," she replied sullenly.

"Sit down!" His voice was so loud and sudden that it made her flinch. It was an order this time and was given in a tone she knew there was no arguing with.

So she did as she was told, but somehow kept an air of defiance on her face, refusing to touch any food.

"I trust you left Arthur well," he said after a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

"No," she replied tartly, "he's very ill. But you would know that if you came and saw him for yourself."

An angry tension seemed to pass through Uther at that. He clearly didn't like the barely disguised accusation there. "I have a kingdom to run," he explained tightly, "I cannot sit by his bedside all day and night."

"Or it seems at all," she muttered bitterly.

He looked up at her, a mixture of sadness and anger on his face. Whatever reason he'd summoned her for, whatever he'd wanted of her, he clearly hadn't got it. It seemed as if he was about to say something further, perhaps to offer an explanation or plea for understanding but instead he let out a heavy, defeated sounding sigh.

"You may go," he said, waving her dismissively away.

That was it? All this charade for a few moments in his presence before he sent her off again? Well, she supposed, the least she could do was say her piece now she was here.

"Won't you even come and see him?" she asked, having sensed a hint of weakness in his hard front and hoping to get through to him.

"I said you may go," he repeated firmly.

"He's your son!" she said desperately, a hint of pleading there this time.

"He's not lucid," Uther reasoned with something like resent in his tone. "He wouldn't even know I was there."

"That didn't stop you visiting me when I was ill," she said, pointing out the flaw in that argument.

She prepared herself for his fury but it didn't come. He wasn't angry as she suspected, just more distant, shutting her out completely, refusing to even look at her. It was as though he'd given up.

"Just...go..." he said quietly.

And she did, knowing her pleas fell on deaf ears. She stood, turning angrily on her heels and stormed from the room. Gaius was in the corridor outside, no doubt waiting to talk to the king, and he called to her as she passed.

"Morgana," he said softly. "You have to forgive him."

"No," she said, turning to face the physician, "I don't."

Her words were harsh but she held her temper, understanding it would be unfair to take it out on Gaius.

"He's just afraid," Gaius explained with sympathetic understanding. "He's scared of losing his son. People react very differently in these circumstances."

And part of her could perhaps empathize with that. It hardly gave her great pleasure or comfort to see Arthur in such a state and she could only imagine that it would be worse for his father. But still that gave him no excuse for being so cold.

"Yes," she said tightly, "most act like they have a heart."

And she turned again, walking away.

Gaius sighed sadly but made no attempt to call her back.

*****

Merlin didn't like sitting alone he decided. Morgana had only been gone a few minutes at most but already he'd had time to think of too many things, none them very comforting.

On the outside he probably could be considered an optimist. He kept telling everyone who would listen that Arthur was absolutely going to be all right. Of course he would. Princes didn't die from little fevers, not when they had someone of Gaius's talent looking after them.

Except it wasn't a little fever, a dark part of his mind argued. It was a raging, burning one that had had left Arthur either asleep or unconscious for three days. They'd been pouring water down his throat when they could, but he certainly wasn't able to eat and if he didn't wake up soon then he was only going to get weaker.

But Merlin shook his head, forcibly pushing that thought aside. He was being melodramatic, he tried to tell himself. Arthur was well fed and as strong as an ox. He wasn't going to die of hunger after just three days.

And yet somehow, being too hopeful and too assured felt like a mistake also, as if he was jinxing it almost. A part of him argued that if he said everything was going to be fine then something was bound to go wrong just to spite him. At the same time though, thinking the worst felt like giving in and that was something he didn't believe in doing either.

Then, in the darkest moments of all, doubts would begin to take him and he'd start to contemplate what a failure he'd been and how this had somehow been all his fault.

His stomach clenching with uneasy, he was actually grateful for the sound of the soft thump coming from Arthur's bed chamber, giving him a distraction. He moved in there quickly, a little worried, but only found that in a restless moment the prince had managed to push his blankets onto the floor again.

Sighing, Merlin bent down and picked them up, covering the other young man over once more. He rested his palm on Arthur's head for a moment as he'd done so dozens of times over the last few days. He wasn't sure if it was his wishful thinking optimistic side again, but he could almost swear that Arthur's skin felt a little cooler than it had before. And he did seem to be sleeping far more comfortably too.

Merlin decided not to dare hope though in case he was wrong. Instead he just looked down at the other man, folding his arms across his chest as he contemplated him for a moment.

"You really can be a prat sometimes, you know?" he eventually declared, with a sigh, taking the opportunity to talk to Arthur when he couldn't answer back. "And you're arrogant, way too impressed with yourself, you can be really rude, a totally snob..."

He trailed off, laughing a little at himself, realising how dreadful that all sounded.

"But you're also honourable. And you're one of the bravest people I ever met," he said quietly, knowing deep down that the goodness in Arthur outweighed the bad. "Camelot needs you. So you remember that and don't die, all right?"

Arthur grumbled a little in his sleep and Merlin decided to take that as an agreement.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

The next day, much to Merlin's relief, Arthur definitely seemed stronger.

Morgana arrived early as usual, looking tired having left so late the previous night, but she seemed instantly heartened by the news, her face brightening when he told her.

He chatted to her lightly as they waited for Gaius to arrive. To be honest, he'd felt very awkward around her at first, not really knowing what to say to a lady, but the several days they'd spent watching over Arthur together had made her seem less strange and distant to him.

Yes, she was a noble woman and an incredibly beautiful one at that, but at the end of the day she was just a person like him.

Well, sort of anyway.

She was a lot kinder than he'd imagined. Not that he'd really thought she'd be horrible or anything, he just couldn't envisage that she'd care all that much about him. Yet she'd asked him a lot of questions, about his childhood and where he'd grown up. He didn't think it was particularly exciting, not the parts he could tell her anyway, but she seemed to take a genuine interest all the same.

The one thing they studiously hadn't talked about was Arthur. It was sort of an unspoken mutual agreement between the two of them, neither wanting to start sharing stories in case it began to sound like his eulogy. But as Gaius arrived and crossed into the prince's bedchamber, Merlin felt that fragile stir of hope once more and this time he dared to indulge it.

It certainly felt much better than the horrible doubts and thoughts of failure that had been plaguing him for the last few days. In his most desperate moments he'd been half convinced that Arthur was going to die and totally convinced that it was his fault. He'd been given a mission, had been told how important Arthur's destiny was, and yet had let this happen. How could he have been so stupid? After all the deadly, mystical threats he'd saved Arthur from, he'd gone and let him be killed in a game. Camelot would be ruined and it was all his fault.

Not to mention a young man was going to lose his life too soon. A man who, in Merlin's humble opinion at least, deserved to live. A man who was needed and couldn't be replaced.

He tried to bury all those thoughts now though, buoying himself with optimism once more, hoping for all their sakes that it wasn't misplaced.

"I'm sure he'll be up and around in few days," he said cheerfully as they waited for Gaius's verdict.

Morgana, who had been standing looking out of the window, turned to him. "What? So he can start bossing you around again?"

"Yeah," Merlin said with a chuckle. "I'm really looking forward to it."

She smiled in return.

It seemed in rather bad taste though to completely berate a man who'd so nearly had died and so he felt the need to say something nice to counter that.

"I think we're all lucky that he's going to be okay though," he pointed out, feeling slightly embarrassed to admit it. "He still can be a bit of a prat at times, but he's a good man at heart and Camelot needs him."

Morgana's smile took on a warmer tone.

"And he's lucky to have you," she reasoned sincerely.

Merlin felt slightly uncomfortable at such praise and shrugged, turning the conversation away from himself. "Well you have Gwen. I think that makes you luckier."

"Perhaps for now," she admitted. "Although I won't be surprised if you take her from me someday."

From her suddenly slightly wicked smile he knew exactly what she was implying. He was about to deny it, sure he was blushing, when he was saved by Gaius returning from the bedchamber.

"He's doing much better," the physician confirmed with some relief before they'd even asked. "I think he's through the worst of it."

Merlin didn't know if he'd ever smiled so widely in his life.

"Now," Gaius said, his own smile briefly lighting a tired face, "the covering on the wound needs changing and more of the herbal paste must be applied. I need to go and tell Uther the good news."

Merlin nodded, promising to do so before Gaius left.

"Well," the young wizard said, smiling brightly at Morgana, feeling a thousand times lighter, "duty calls."

"I'll do it," she offered softly. "Why don't you go and find Gwen and get us both some food?"

It wasn't really a demand but he suspected that there was no use arguing with her and so he left her to it, unable to quash his beaming smile as he walked out into the corridor.

*****

The last thing Arthur properly remembered was Morgana's fingers on his thigh, cleaning the wound he'd sustained there.

When he awoke to feel Morgana's cool fingers on his flesh again, he became very confused, wondering if no time had passed at all since then and he'd only closed his eyes for moment. But no, he realised upon seeing that he starred up to the canopy of his own bed, last he remembered he'd been in Gaius's rooms.

A slightly ragged intake of breath on his part grabbed her attention and she looked up at him, smiling reassuringly before continuing with her work. She seemed to be smoothing some substance over the wound and the gentle caress of her fingers made him shift a little uncomfortably, assaulted by the unexpected intimacy of it.

If she noticed his reaction she said nothing about it.

"How do you feel?" she asked instead, unnaturally quiet, almost as if she considering him too delicate for anything louder.

"Tired," he croaked out, his voice feeling harsh and unused. Then he frowned a little. "And hungry I think."

"That's hardly a surprise, you haven't eaten in days. I'll get Merlin to fetch you something when he comes back."

Arthur's frown deepened further at that, a mild sense of alarm coming over him.

"How long have I...?" he asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

"Four days."

Four days? But he remembered nothing of them. He recalled the accident quite clearly, the sudden shock and the impact. He vaguely remembered being in Gauis's room too with the old physician, Merlin and Morgana fussing around him. He knew he'd been in some pain but thankfully the memory of that seemed to have dulled. But then to know nothing until now? To have lost four whole days? It unnerved him greatly and suddenly made him realise how ill he must have been.

Morgana confirmed that as she continued to speak.

"You developed quite a fever. Had us all worried for a while there."

He cocked his head at her, catching something in her demeanour that told him she was more troubled than she was letting on.

"Even you?" he asked, with the slightest smile, trying to lighten the mood.

She gave him a dry look.

"Between the very important task of choosing a new gown, trying new ways to braid my hair, doing a little embroidery and picking flowers, yes."

But it was clear from how tired she looked that her flippancy wasn't exactly accurate. He wondered if she'd been here a lot, caring for him whilst he slept. The idea warmed him a little, but he didn't have the courage to ask her if it was the truth.

He flinched as her cool fingers found a new area of skin to toy with. He knew it was utterly wrong to find the sensation pleasurable, that she was simply tending to his wound, but he couldn't seem to repress the flashes of contentment that she provoked with each stupidly small movement. He rested his head back heavily in his pillows, trying not to look at her, trying desperately to think of something else. But his mind was always drawn back to the way her fingers seemingly traced random patterns on his thigh whilst she attentively applied the ointment.

He was just ill, he told himself firmly, and it was making him think the stupidest things. It wasn't as if he was some awkward teenager who'd never even kissed a girl before. Still, he couldn't deny that this was something different. It was Morgana for a start. And for some reason, she seemed able to raise his passions even with the tiniest movements in the least romantic situation.

When he found his tired mind drifting though, suddenly considering the softness of her lips, the grace of her neck and curve of her breasts, he chastised himself greatly for such impertinence and decided that he had to say something.

"Shouldn't someone else be doing that?" he asked, his voice sounding abnormally tight.

"I know what I'm doing," she assured him, taking his question as a lack of confidence in her skill.

"I didn't mean that. It's just..."

He trailed off with embarrassment, not really knowing how to put it. Somehow he didn't think saying '_I'm tired and apparently not in complete control of my faculties because I am seriously contemplating pulling you to this bed' _was the right approach to take. Even if it was the honest one.

She smiled wickedly though, apparently catching at least some of his meaning this time and not at all embarrassed herself.

"Don't worry," she teased, "I've seen your leg before. You'll just have to hope I have no scandalous intents."

She wriggled a playful eyebrow at him and he actually smiled at that, although he couldn't honestly say he felt much more comfortable.

He was saved from further thought by his father's sudden entrance. Fortunately the king was too delighted to notice the embarrassed and somewhat ashamed look on Arthur's face as he tried to wipe away the last of his less than chivalrous thoughts regarding Morgana. He was certainly grateful that she seemed to have finally finished and moved a pace away. He didn't exactly want to continue having such unbidden feelings with his father, her guardian, present.

"Thank heavens," Uther said in clearly relief as he strode across to the bed.

Arthur tried to sit up to greet him but much to his dismay he didn't have the strength to do it.

Uther didn't seem to be bother by that though, laying a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder.

"How do you feel?"

"Tired, Father," he admitted. "But I'm sure I shall be well soon."

"Good. Very good."

"I'll go and ask Merlin to fetch you that food," Morgana said, seemingly having decided to leave them be. Uther caught her wrist lightly as she passed and even though he said it very quietly, Arthur heard him thank her with undeniably sincerity.

She nodded graciously and left, but there was a clear tension between the two of them that somehow Arthur didn't feel able to enquire about.

*****

Arthur, unsurprisingly, proved not to be the best patient in the world. Being confined to his bed to rest didn't suit him and he quickly became short tempered and sullen. Poor Merlin seemed to bear the brunt of it, being the unfortunate person to have to take the prince his tonics and his meals.

Most people tried to avoid visiting him when they could, put off by his foul moods and sharp tongue, but Morgana was not so easily chased away. He did himself no favours by sitting alone brooding and, whilst it would probably serve him right if no one wished to see him at all, she couldn't bring herself to be quite so cruel.

Early one morning she entered his rooms to find Merlin asleep in a chair, snoring lightly. She smiled sympathetically at the young man before continuing on to Arthur's bed chamber.

She had ready a cutting remark, intending to ask him whether he was going to act less like a sore troll today, but she was silenced by the sight of him out of bed for the first time in nearly two weeks. He was standing by the window, leaning against the stonework, obviously careful not to put any weight on his injured leg. Whilst the sign was encouraging, she knew for a fact that Gaius had not yet told him he could get up.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked incredulously.

He whipped his head around, startled, and attempted on guilty instinct to return to the bed. His injured leg wouldn't support him though and it was only through a combination of grabbing onto the small table and her rushing over to help him that he didn't fall unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Why are you out of bed?" she demanded crossly, a steadying hand on his chest as she slipped under one of his arms, using her full body to better support his weight.

"I wanted to see what the weather was like today," he replied, just as grumpily.

She looked skywards. "Don't be so ridiculous," she scolded harshly. The great fool. It was his injured pride no doubt that spurred him to try and get better ahead of expectations. He'd never been hurt in contest before and he seemed to be taking it like some great personal tragedy, as though the people would be whispering about his cowardice if he wasn't well again immediately.

She tried to lead him back to the bed. He was heavy enough as it was and she certainly didn't need him resisting her, yet he did so all the same.

"I don't require your help," he muttered angrily, trying to shake her off.

Glaring at him her voice held an irritated snap as she spoke.

"Fine!"

She let him go and, just as she expected, he nearly fell to the floor, the wounded leg giving out on him immediately. Prepared for it, she grabbed him as soon as the undignified lurch had proved her point.

"Would you like my help now?" she asked sarcastically, "Or would you prefer to crawl back to your bed?"

He clearly didn't like it but, having apparently decided that this was the lesser of two humiliating evils, he refrained from arguing further as he leant on her for support whilst he limped across. Once sitting, he gruffly insisted that he could do the rest himself and she left him to it, glad to relieve her sore neck and shoulders.

After a moment, watching him so gingerly lift his pained leg back up, having to use his hands to do so, she felt a little sorry for him and her temper cooled somewhat.

She walked over to the bed side, pushing him forward a little as she straightened his pillows, making it more comfortable for him to sit. His eyes looked at her hand resting on his shoulder for a moment before he glanced up, much of his anger now gone too.

"I didn't know you had such desires to be a nursemaid," he jested lightly.

"I don't," she pointed out. "You can consider yourself a fortunate case."

He actually smiled at that and she saw it as the perfect opportunity to press her point whilst he was in a better frame of mind.

"You can't push yourself into being well, Arthur. Gaius said it will take time. I'm sure your strength will return."

She'd hoped that he would just nod and agree with the sense in that but it wasn't really in his nature to do so.

"And in the meantime?" he challenged sullenly, unable just to accept her words of wisdom. "What do you expect me to do? Like it?"

"No, I expect you to be sensible about it."

"How can I?" he asked with unmistakable bitterness. "How can I just lie here doing nothing? I'm useless. Worse than useless, I'm a burden."

"No you're not," she dismissed but he didn't seem like he was listening to her.

"If Camelot was attacked right now, what I could do? How can I protect this city or you or father in this state?" His anger grew again but it seemed more directed inwardly, at his own failings.

"You couldn't," she agreed, "but this won't last forever. You'll be back on your feet, out training with your men before you know it."

"And how are they supposed to trust me?" he reasoned quietly. "Don't you think they're always going to look at me with doubt now? To wonder if I have some weakness remaining."

It hadn't occurred to her that that might be his fear. That it wasn't his pride that was hurting but his sense of duty, the idea that he couldn't fulfil his role in this condition. She suddenly felt badly for having blamed his vanity before.

"I think," she said firmly, "that once you're strong again, you'll show them why you're their prince and they won't have room to doubt you."

He starred at her for a long moment and then nodded, grateful for her belief in him.

"Now," she said, taking a deep breath and reaching for the bottle of tonic, "I'm sure it's time you had more of this."

His face scowled like an unenthusiastic child. "Do I have to? It tastes vile."

"Would you like me to pour it down your throat?" she asked innocently. "It's not as if you could run away."

He glared at her for that.

She simply smiled and held out the small cup she'd filled. He looked at it most apprehensively.

"You were so much more obedient when you were half senseless," she pointed out with an exasperated sigh. "I only had to ask you once then."

He frowned as if something had suddenly occurred to him. "I remember that," he said softly. "I thought it was dream."

"Why?" she teased. "Do you dream of me often?"

"Only if I'm very unlucky," he intoned dryly.

To stop her answering back he took the cup and drunk the contents down hurriedly, grimacing as he did so. When he handed it back again, it was her turn to frown as she noticed something on his wrist.

It was the piece of blue lace she had given him during the contest, still tied securely there. Sitting on the bed, she studied it for a moment before looking up at him curiously, wondering why he still had it on. Had he simply forgotten it was there?

He smiled wryly. "Ah yes, I suppose I should apologise. I promised I'd win that tournament for you, didn't I?"

"Well you'll be pleased to know," she said with a smile of her own, "that my honour remains undamaged. It obviously didn't need the improvement after all."

He shook his head in exasperated amusement at her.

"Perhaps you'd be happier if you found a man you do want to win tournaments for you."

She couldn't quite bring herself to say she was beginning to believe she already had, fearing he'd laugh at her. Instead she said nothing but her fingers reached for the knot, meaning to untie it.

"Leave it there," he requested, pulling his wrist back a little.

She looked at him in askance and he simply shrugged.

"I thought it might bring me luck," he quietly explained.

"It hasn't done very well so far," she reasoned.

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

She smiled at that, subconsciously running her thumb in circles over his palm, his hands rough and calloused for someone so young.

"Yes, and I'm glad," she admitted quietly, unable to hold her tongue this time, looking at the bed sheets rather than him.

Something in that moment seemed to stir him.

When he reached out and lifted her chin with his free hand he looked at her carefully, as though trying to discover something. Then his face changed to the most uncertain expression she'd ever seen on him, as if he was being drawn into something half fearful and half exciting and was struggling to decide what action to take. She didn't dare to think what it might be until he leant closer, his lips heading for hers.

Did he really intend to kiss her, she wondered with a start. And more importantly, why wasn't she pushing him away?

Instead she looked up into his eyes and he starred right back, seeming to ask a question of her. She gave no conscious answer but a feeling in the pit of her stomach felt like it was demanding 'yes'. He must have read that in her because he moved a little closer, his eyes drifting closed. She did so too, thinking that she must be mad but ignoring that to concentrate on the feel of his warm breath on her lips, the clutch of his hand in hers and the heady anticipation that made her experience a delightful light headedness.

She half expected him to pull away at the last moment, for it to be a prank and for him to start laughing at her. What she got instead however was a single, sweet brush of his lips against hers, his entire kiss over in the merest moment. Yet somehow it still felt wonderful, despite the simplicity, her breath catching in her throat and warmth running right to the tip of her fingers. It was so chaste she barely knew what to make of it. On the rare occasion she'd imagined Arthur's kisses, she'd thought they would be full of strong passion, his confident manner surely translating to everything he did. She'd never imagined anything so soft and uncertain.

He withdrew a little, anxiously watching her face for reaction. When she smiled he seemed heartened and leant in as if to kiss her again.

He never made it. Instead the two of them leapt apart as Merlin burst into the room, prattling merrily on about what a fine morning it was. For a moment she thought he hadn't noticed anything awry but then the young servant stopped and looked them curiously before a sudden smile broke onto his face.

"What?" Arthur asked tensely.

"Nothing," Merlin replied, although he was grinning from ear to ear. "You two are just really sweet."

"Merlin!" Arthur chastised through gritted teeth, whilst Morgana bit her lower lip, looking to the floor with a slight smile of embarrassment.

"I should go," she said hurriedly. "Uther wanted me to join him for breakfast."

She released Arthur's hand and quickly left.

Arthur watched her go with a slight sigh before the young prince turned to look across at his man servant, his eyes giving him daggers.

"You know what, Merlin," he said with a caustic determination. "I think I will make a full recovery. Then I'm going to kill you."

Merlin just continued to grin regardless.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** The concluding part of this. Many thanks to those who read and left reviews. It is always much appreciated.

* * *

**Part Five**  
Just as Arthur wished, no big fuss was made about his recovery. The first night he was able to leave his room for dinner, he ate privately with his father, the older man seeming pleased that Arthur was on his feet even if he was limping and needed a cane to help him.

He ditched that particular aid as soon as he was able, taking long walks around the castle and grounds to strengthen his injured leg. Merlin went with him more often than not, saying that he didn't want Arthur tripping and falling over a battlement or anything, not when he'd put so much effort into making sure the prince recovered. Arthur joked that with Merlin's skinny frame, he'd probably just end up pulling the both of them over to which Merlin had replied, a little offended, that he was stronger than he looked. Appreciating that his servant had taken prodigious care of him during his illness, Arthur was gracious enough to let that go.

Just once, Morgana walked with him. He'd told Merlin to meet him in the courtyard and was surprised, but not unpleasantly so, to see her waiting for him instead. She explained that Merlin was needed elsewhere and that she'd offered to accompany the prince in the other man's place. Arthur didn't quite believe that, suspecting that Merlin's absence was more her idea than anything, but he decided not to embarrass her by pointing that out.

He'd spent no time alone with her at all since their small kiss and he'd been beginning to wonder if she was avoiding him through awkwardness or embarrassment. Perhaps she hadn't been so taken with him as he'd first thought and was struggling to think of a way to tell him that. But the way she smiled when she saw him seemed to wipe those doubts away and he confidently held out his arm for her to take, accepting her company most willingly. It was never quite clear whether he was her escort or she his support but it felt agreeable all the same.

They chatted pleasantly, something they only seemed to do when others weren't watching, but no mention was made of their kiss. Somehow, when he wasn't deathly tired and feeling weak, the subject was an awful lot harder to bring up.

From the peak of the highest battlement it seemed like they could see half the kingdom and they both stood, surveying the magnificent spectacle of the land he would someday rule. It was amazing to him that with all that was spread below she could still catch his eye, but she did. He watched the way strands of her raven hair danced in gusts of wind. He studied the expression on her face as blue eyes looked out across the world, wondering what she saw and what she thought of it all. Did it intimidate her? Make her feel sad that she barely saw beyond the castle walls? Or did she feel like he did, awed by the grandness of it yet apprehensive of the responsibility they all held for it?

Reaching out, suddenly needing the reassurance, his fingers entwined with hers. She didn't look at him, but she gripped his hand all the same.

He continued to resist the temptation of her lips, uncertainty still hindering him. He wanted to kiss her, that much he was sure of, but once he did so then expectations would begin to surface regarding his intentions towards her. It wasn't as if those intentions were dishonourable but he wasn't sure he was ready for anything so formal quite yet. He had other responsibilities that held his time, things he was expected to do. Besides, if he was going to court Morgana he should do it in a proper and chaste manner, setting an example to others like he was always expected to do. He certainly shouldn't be stealing kisses from her whilst they stood out of sight of the rest of the kingdom.

Of course, he reasoned, even if he did intend upon courting her, he could hardly dedicate deeds of valour in her honour if he couldn't achieve them. Nor could he command the respect of anyone, least of all his knights, whilst he remained so out of practice. Therefore it had become his first priority to reassert himself as a warrior, leaving doubt in no man as to his skill and superiority. As soon as he could persuade Gaius to agree to it, he was out in the training yard once more, strengthening his sword arm, feeling infinitely better when he could follow his familiar drills and routines.

It took a further week before he commenced training with his knights, the pain in his leg finally gone but him wanting to be certain that it wouldn't flare up and cause him to suddenly wince. The men seemed to be gossiping somewhat when he arrived but he soon put a stop to that with a fierce selection of drills and practices. He barked out his orders and strode with confidence through the men, observing their work. Not one of them dared question him of course but he still felt as if there was some slight doubt in them and, whether that was imaginary or not, it had to be quashed.

He got his chance within days when one of the men came to the end of his training, ready to take the final test. Merlin stood watching as did Morgana. She never usually took interest in the trials and he suspected that it was not the potential knight she had come to see.

He couldn't be sure if her presence made him feel more nervous or more confident.

"Morgana," he greeted politely as he went to fetch his shield from his man servant. "Don't tell me one of my knights has caught your eye."

"My interest lies beyond knights," she said, leaving him no time to ponder the true meaning of that statement before she continued. "I was out walking when I saw all this. You boast so proudly about your training, I thought I might come and see what all the fuss was about."

He still didn't believe her but he nodded at that all the same.

If Arthur was honest with himself, doubts remained in his own head right up until the moment when the other man swung a sword at him. Then years of well honed instinct kicked in like a long forgotten friend. He ducked the first attack, blocked the second with his shield and then side stepped the next, using the opening to grab the other man's wrist. With a sharp twist he'd disarmed him and fiercely brought a punch up under the man's chin, sending him sprawling onto his backside.

"Sloppy," Arthur announced, haughtily. "Come back when your defence is not so weak."

He tried not to smile as cries of 'well done, my lord!' and 'good work, sire!' drifted across from the other knights watching. As he replaced his sword in the rack, he glanced up to look at Merlin and Morgana, him grinning like a buffoon and her clapping, looking pleased for him.

And for some reason, the fact that they were proud of him meant more than all other praise put together. Their belief in him, above all others, made him feel ready and able to defend Camelot once more.


End file.
